Turn My Grief to Grace
by Megara79
Summary: On a quiet autumn day, Kathryn struggles with the loss of a loved one. Written for VAMBs Secret Drabble 2016.
**Title: Turn My Grief to Grace**

 **Author: Megara79**

 **Series: Star Trek: Voyager**

 **Rating: K**

 **Summary: On a quiet autumn day, Kathryn struggles with the loss of a loved one.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing**

 **Thanks to: Missyhissy, awesome beta and cheerleader. I would not have been able to finish this without her.**

 **A/N: Written for VAMBs Secret Drabble 2015. My recipient was Lissy, who supplied the first line.**

* * *

The sky was bright, the air cool and fresh, but Kathryn's heart wasn't open to the beauty of nature.

In the horizon, the sun had just appeared, its brilliant yellow colour a glorious contrast to the cerulean sky. The surrounding trees were painted in orange and red, and the numerous birds hiding in the branches greeted the day in song. Harvest time was nearly over. Soon enough the birds would scatter, their voices silenced by the oncoming winter, but that day wasn't here yet, and, for now, dawn was still a celebration.

Kathryn didn't agree. She stared blindly at the scenery, and wished the birds away.

She'd escaped the house unnoticed. It wasn't hard to do. Everyone else was sleeping, and she was grateful for the respite. Her sister would be up within the hour, Kathryn guessed, and at that point they'd have no choice but to face the harsh reality of the day. Until then, she wasn't needed, and she could tend to her all-consuming grief in peace.

The bench she sat on was wet, the morning dew still clinging to the worn wood, slowly but surely soaking through her black dress and chilling her thighs. It'd been stupid of her to put it on. It was sure to wrinkle, and if there was one thing her aunt Beatrice was bound to fret over, it'd be the dress.

 _'Why, Kathryn?'_ she'd ask. _'Why would you ruin your dress, today of all days?'_

 _'What does it matter?'_ Kathryn would answer back, eyes dull and voice savage. _'It's not like she's going to see it.'_

She closed her eyes, the burning sting of tears unrelenting. She'd forgotten what this kind of pain felt like, the agony having been tucked away and slumbering for years, until greeting her with familiarity the moment she'd sat down on the bench. The breeze whisked a few strands of hair across her cheek, and she gracelessly brushed them away. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest and she tried to keep her breath even.

The birds were oblivious to her struggle; their melodious chatter rich and inviting in their promise of a good day. She fought to tune them out, their joyful twitter an insult to what she was feeling. _'Stop it,'_ she begged, and shivered in spite of the rising temperature. _'Just stop it.'_

He was nearly at the bench before she realised she was no longer alone; his footsteps easy to recognise once they'd filtered past the noise in her mind. A flash of irritation swept through her, and she chewed on her lip to keep from lashing out. She didn't want to acknowledge him. Maybe if she kept her eyes shut, he'd take the hint and leave.

When she felt the weight of his jacket drape over her shoulders, her eyes opened of their own volition. It smelled like him and she pulled the coat tighter around herself, the faint scent comforting in its own way. He took her hand as he sat down next to her, his fingers intertwining with hers, and the urge to yell at him dwindled away.

"How did you know I was here?"

Her voice rasped like sandpaper, the noise foreign to her own ears.

He squeezed her hand gently. "Gretchen told me that you used to come here after Edward and Justin died. When I woke up and you were gone, I just assumed," he told her quietly, his thumb stroking over hers. "It's a beautiful place."

Kathryn brushed away the tear that trickled down her cheek at the mention of her mother. "She used to come sit with me," she confessed. "When things got particularly bad and I couldn't see straight, she'd come here and just sit. For hours." Her eyes locked with his, another tear spilling over. "I don't know how to do this without her."

She broke, the last of her resolve crumpling, and Chakotay pulled her into a hug. His arms tightened around her, the heat from his body infusing her shaking form with warmth. His lips graced her temple, and he murmured, tightening his hold on her even more. "I'm here, and I'll sit with you for as long as you'll let me."

A muffled sob escaped her. The crushing pain that had held her in a persistent choke-hold over the last few days reluctantly loosened some of its grip. Since her mother's passing a week earlier, Kathryn had hardly had time to sit down, let alone allow herself to grieve. The list of things that needed to be done had been monumental, and it was easier to keep busy than to face the fact that Gretchen wasn't with them any longer.

It all came to a crashing halt the night before, when she'd run out of things to do. The funeral had been arranged, all the necessary comm. calls had been made, there were no more PADDs to read, or household tasks to be done; nothing to keep the devastation of losing her mother from twisting her insides until she felt like she was going to pass out. Terrified of letting go, she'd turned her despair into anger; her burgeoning fury a living, breathing thing that relished its release.

And her husband had taken the brunt of it.

By the time she collapsed into bed, she'd been exhausted, and too tired to care when he crawled into bed right along with her; his presence steadfast and unperturbed, instead of sleeping on the couch like she'd told him to do.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," she managed.

"I know." There was no reproach in his voice, his forgiveness given long before she'd asked for it.

Her cheek stroked against his as she drew back, her hands coming up to cup his face before she kissed him. "I love you," she whispered against him.

"I love you too," he murmured back, before wrapping his arms around her again.

Around them the sky was still bright, the air just as cool and fresh as when Kathryn had first left the house. Her heart still ached, and would for a long time, but the pain was not quite as vicious or biting as before. Later, when they made their way back to the funeral that was about to start, the same choir of chickadees and robins followed them on their walk. Kathryn lifted her face to let the rising sun warm her, and found herself acknowledging, that, perhaps, the exuberant birds were right all along.

And if her mother had been there, she would have loved to hear them sing.

* * *

The End


End file.
